Rock On
by Anti-Social-Turtle
Summary: A friend, a roomate, a deadly mistake. Hints at RayNeela (mostly friendship).
1. Two Little Pills

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the words.  
Summary: A friend, a roomate, a deadly mistake.  
Spoilers: Not really  
A/N: I have no clue where this came from andI apoloize for its randomness. I' m not really a Ray/Neela, but i love them being friends a roomates. Neela belongs with Gallant. End of story.

* * *

The rough coughing made her cringe, and she could almost hear him wince with every jag. She hated that sound; the ragged, dry, unproductive cough. It was up there with the sounds of throwing up, nails on a chalk board and that squeaking sound your finger makes when slid across a wet glass.

The rings of the curtain clattered together in a familiar pattern as she slid the curtain over, revealing a rather flushed Dr. Barnett.

"Well, it seems your rapid strep culture has come back positive," Neela's heavy accent sounded laced with an apologetic tone, "Susan said you could go home."

He cleared his throat and rubbed it, craning his neck as if adjusting a tie, "That's just great, I have a gig tonight," his anger just aggravated his throat more, making his voice even more hoarse.

"Well I know of a lot of people who prefer that kind of husky voice," she said jovially, trying to cheer him up. Her attempts proved to be futile as he brushed past her pretending to laugh sarcastically.

His movements were hurried as he slid his coat on, two arms at a time, and made his way out of the automatic doors.

Her face was discontent as she looked down and realized he had forgotten his prescription, something told her not by accident.

"Hey, wait!" She ran out into the frigid February air, "You forgot…" he was nowhere in sight, "Why do I bother?" Neela shook her head with a light laugh and turned around, heading back into the ER.

* * *

The key slide smoothly into the door, turned without hindrance, and granted her entrance into their apartment. She was amazed as to how quickly she had become accustomed to the unique smell of the dwelling. Perhaps 'smell' was the wrong word; 'stench' more adequately describes it.

The fabrics absorbed cigarette, and who ever knows what other smoke, which lingered even after repeated washings. The kitchen, although seemingly clean, was often ripe with soured milk and other spoiled foods.

And whether the toilet was clogged and over flowing, or perfectly clean, the bathroom often brought the lovely smell of bodily excretions and odor, all of which she could without a doubt attribute to her rock-star roomy and his friends who seemed to come and go at their own will.

"Ray, are you home?" she said rather loudly. Depositing a bag from the pharmacy onto the kitchen table, she looked up to find Ray clad in a wide array of leathers and studs, tuning his guitar.

Neela couldn't help but being slightly turned on. The tightness of his tee shirt tugged on his defined torso, while the leather jacket he wore was short enough to show off his studded belt.

While she had to agree that clothes were definitely important in that "image," she wasn't sure she could get used guys wearing make-up.

Ray finally looked up from his most prized possession, "Hey," he rasped, "Don't get to comfy, you gotta take me to me gig."

Neela opened her mouth to lace into him, but soon softened, almost into a laugh, "Are you wearing my eye liner?"

"No!" he said defensively. Standing up, he turned and put his guitar into the case, closed it and turned back around to face her, "Its, _my_ eyeliner."

Still laughing to herself, "You're lucky I'm in a good mood, c'mon, lets go," she picked up her purse and opened the door for him.

"Don't forget your medication," she indicated the kitchen counter with her finger, "and if you get laryngitis, I have permission to say 'I told you so'."

"Yeah, yeah," he grabbed the bag, holding it in the same hand that cradled his guitar, and followed her out the door.

* * *

She watched Ray as he twisted the childproof lid off the container of pills, tipped it onto his hand, and closed it again having produced two almost pentagon-shaped pills in his palm. He got up from his seat and walked over to the area his band mates had designated the "bar" and poured himself a glass of water.

It didn't seem like much of a bar to her. Scattered on the table were an array of beers-most of which were half finished, a bottle of vodka, and a pitcher of water. He tossed the pills into his throat and chased them down with a few gulps of water. Finishing off the glass, he slammed it down, clear his throat, and got into his "Band Mode."

"Okay, lets go, we've only got fifteen minutes," He continued in his hoarse voice, "Lets show Neela what we've got." He took a seat on one of the chairs. He was positioned awkwardly, but seemed comfortable; his rear end was seated on the back of the chair rather then the seat with his left leg up, supporting his guitar, and his right leg out stretched across the cushion.

Neela leaned back in her seat, arms folded across her chest and got comfortable as they began tuning their instruments. In high school and even college, she never saw the need to go see the local bands playing with her friends, and never knew what the big deal was. She knew the viola, and she respected music, but the whole okay-lets-scream-at-the-top-of-our-lungs-and-pretend-it's-singing type of music never really appealed to her. Ray's band seemed different then any other, and she was intrigued.

They were about half way through a rather long song when it seemed Ray's voice was giving out. Not to mention the large drops of sweat rolling down his temples. Granted, he was into his music, but not that into it.

All of a sudden, after a particularly long note, he slammed his hand on the strings of the guitar, bringing it to an abrupt halt. He seemed unable to speak, only holding up a slightly shaky finger, indicating he needed a minute. The band seemed to comply, going off and continuing to tune and prepare. But Neela seemed concerned, her attention not leaving Ray.

He moved to the bar, pouring another glass of water. He turned around to face the rest of the room, leaned a little on the table and gulped the water furiously, trying to make his sickening feeling go away.

His heart raced, his head spun, and his stomach churned. He moved his hands from their supportive places on the table, to his fiercely itchy eyes. Neela unfolded her arms and placed them beside her legs, propelling herself off of the couch she was seated on.

"Ray, are you alright?" Her voice seemed kind, and concerned, nothing rare for her, but something Ray hadn't been expecting.

Ray shook is head no and turned around to pour another glass of water. His hand began to shake, the pitcher clanging against the glass as he was trying to keep both objects steady. It was a loosing battle and he dropped the pitcher, only able to watch it shatter on top of the table, sending water into the air.

Neela jumped back, but no such reaction seemed to be found from Ray.

"Woah, dude!" One of his more, education-challenged band members exclaimed, and Neela was quick to shoot him a look of death. He put his hands up in defeat and shook his head.

Neela's glare soon reverted to Ray, whose eyes reflected something she hadn't ever seen in them: fear.

He closed his eyes, resting against a wall and slowly slid down it. Neela followed him down, clearly distressed.

"Ray, Ray, look at me," she pleaded, taking his head gently in her hands, taping his cheek. His eyes slowly opened, as if he had weights attached to his lids.

"Ana…phyl….laxis…" He panted out, clearly struggling for breath.

"Damnit, one of you, call an ambulance!" She turned slightly to his band members, who all seemed to be frozen in place, "_Now!_"

She should have known, and mentally smacked herself for not figuring it out sooner. The sweating, itching, and now the telltale signs of hives were then showing on his arms and neck.

"Do you have anything on you? And EpiPen, or an inhaler, anything?" he shook his head. He closed his eyes, and tried to force a swallow, trying to push down the feeling of dread in his stomach.

Bret soon appeared at Neela's side, clearly disturbed by the past few minutes of chaos, if only he had known it was only going to get worse. "I thought you said he only had strep!"

"He did," she turned to face Bret, "He does, he's having an anaphylactic reaction to his medication," she swallowed hard, realizing it was partially her fault for the particular medication he had been taking.

"A huh what?" Bret said, distracted by the medical jargon. Neela was about to answer when Ray's violent gasping and coughing slowed to a deathly stop, his head lolling to the side, resting on his shoulder.

"Ray, Ray, can you hear me?" She shook him gently, "Damnit," she uttered again, upon receiving no response.

"What's going on?" Bret's eyes darted between Neela's frantic form, and Ray's prone, unconscious one.

"Help me lay him flat," Neela was not prepared for this, she'd seen many severe allergic reactions, but with those she'd had the hospital equipment at her disposal. And the victim was never her friend.

Once they had gotten him flat on the floor, her fingers flew to his neck, only rewarded by an uneven, rapid pulsation. She noticed he wasn't moving…at all. She let her ear hover over his nose and mouth and the realization hit her hard.

Quickly, she addressed Bret, not wanting to scare him, but frankly she couldn't help being terrified herself, "He's stopped breathing." She couldn't elaborate, she didn't know what else to say.

Bret opened his mouth to say something, but shut it, then opened it again, changing his mind, " You know what to do, right?"

"Yes, yes…of course…" she leaned over and listened one more time to be sure, and then took a deep breath to steady herself.

She kneeled next to him, and tilted his head back, one hand on his fevered forehead, the other under his chin. After she confirmed his airway was clear, she pinched his nose shut and took another deep breath. She covered his now blue-ish lips with her own and began to breathe for him, looking every few breaths to make sure his chest was rising.

After a minute, she stopped, caught her own breath, and checked his pulse. It was erratic, and she knew he couldn't last much longer without medication, and she was not prepared for what she feared she'd have to do.

She continued to breathe for him for what seemed like an eternity. It was getting harder and harder to push the life-saving air to his deprived lungs, either out of her exhaustion, or his increasingly swelling lungs and throat. She stopped after her forth cycle to check his pulse again, but this time, there was no reward.

"Oh god," she whispered, caught in her own breathlessness.

"What?" Bret feared the answer.

"He's arresting," she stood stock still for a few seconds, as did he, as if, if they did anything the entire room would collapse. She soon snapped out of it, as it dawned on her that he was in fact dying.

"Okay, okay, Bret, you see what I was doing?" she positioned her hands over Rays tee-shirt clad chest and began compressions. One…two…three…four…she was getting lost in her dread and quickly looked up to see Bret nod.

"I need you to do that, breathe for him, okay?" she continued compressions. Nine…ten…eleven…twelve…

"I…I…don't know how," He gulped.

"Okay," she reached number fifteen and checked for a pulse, but there was still none, and she knew there wouldn't be until he could get proper treatment, it was just a matter of keeping him alive that long.

She went on to explain to Bret what he needed to do and how. Showing him the first time, she breathed for Ray two more times before resuming compressions. She felt her arms shaking, whether it from fear, adrenaline, or the awkward positioning on the floor she was not used to.

Neela continued to count out loud, more for Bret's benefit then her own, "Okay, when I get to fifteen, start!" she breathed heavily, knowing she had to continue, but also wishing she had no medical knowledge, every complication, and worry running through her head.

"Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, okay go!" she breathed out fully, keeping her fingers on his neck hopefully. There was movement, but nothing that could be considered an effective heartbeat.

She was about to continue when, an unfamiliar person burst into the room that this whole nightmare had begun in, "The paramedics are here," she sounded like a child, but she looked up and saw a woman in her mid-thirties pushing the door open for the paramedics.

"What happened?" The woman paramedic asked kindly as if speaking to a child, unaware of Neela's medical knowledge.

"He's in full arrest," Neela started, as the paramedics brought their equipment in, she was forced towards the upper end of Ray's unnaturally still body.

She watched as the male paramedic took over her job of compressions, and the female readied the defibrillator.

"How long has he been down?" the male panted. Neela took the am-bu bag from the woman's hands as she began manually forcing oxygen to his weakened body.

"About four minutes, we're both doctors at County…" she trailed off for a second, "We need to push an amp of epinephrine and get him to County now!" she said frantically, and trying not to flow into her native tongue as she tends to do when nervous or upset.

"We have to scoop and run, Mercy is closer, we're not authorized…" Neela cut him off.

"I'll take responsibility, lets just go!" she urged them out of the room, unwilling to revive him any further in front of his friends and a very large, unnecessary audience.

Neela was trying not to let them take over. She was visibly shaking, and although she didn't realize the hot tears, they were silently pouring down her face.

They brought him out to the ambulance, loaded him up, and slammed the doors closed, and now she knew she could let go a little. Not of him, or hope, or whatever it is that makes people fight, because she knew he would, but of that little part of herself. The part that puts up a front and doesn't let anyone in.

The woman, she found out her name was Meredith, was driving, leaving Neela herself and the male paramedic, Jason, to tend to Ray.

Who knew two little pills could do so much.

* * *

Before she even realized it, the wail of the heart monitor could be heard resounding through the ambulance. She didn't know how people could have a job like that, you hold a persons life in your hands for ten minutes at most, and then after that you forget it, just like that. At least in the ER you had hours with your patient, you created a rapport, earned their trust.

Time was going so slowly. It wasn't fair to torture either of them like that, she thought. She was still at Ray's head, holding the mask to his face, watching his eyes, looking for any movement beneath his lids, searching for any signs of life. Praying for them.

"Neela, let go!" She snapped out of it, realizing what she was being asked to do. She dropped the bag and moved back in her seat. She closed her eyes briefly, not wanting to see the shock of electricity shoot through his body. But nothing could shield her from the thud; that sickening sound of a body involuntarily dropping back down onto a gurney.

"Nothing," she found herself saying after having starred at the heart monitor, willing his heart to beat.

This time, her eyes dry of tears; she watched with morbid fascination as the 200 joules of electricity shot through his chest and stiffened his body, before he slackened again. Her eyes still fixed on him; she hadn't noticed the change of pace, or the slight smile on Jason's face.

"Sinus Tach," he told her with a sigh of a breath he didn't know he was holding.

* * *

A/N 2: Ok, so that was very long, and if you like it maybe I'll write a second chapter...But if youve read my other fics...I rarely finish one...so I need **LOTS** of feedback! 


	2. Fight This

A/N: Oh My Gosh! Thank you all sooo much for your amazing reviews, those were the only things keeping me going on this chapter. Between working full time over the summer and a summer English assignment I was swamped and I apologized deeply for my FIVE MONTH delay. Seeing as how school starts in like three days I thoughts I better update or it could have been another five months.

I hope I didn't lose too many of you guys, and I hope this chapter isn't a disappointment after such a wait.

Her head spun, her knees weakened, and she found herself having to catch her breath. She hated this side of the door; she almost loathed it. Even when informing a patient's family, even giving good news, she realized that she would in fact step away from the door. It glared at her; it stared her down.

At first she thought of it as a distraction, to both her and the loved one, to be forced to watch the commotion unfold; but in reality, it was a safety net for herself.

When in the trauma room, she often felt comfortable, almost at ease. But take her out of that environment, throw her into a stressful one, and suddenly the stakes are higher. Suddenly you've cut a hole in that safety net… and right now she could almost feel herself slipping through it.

"_Why?"_ She wondered to herself, _"Why would they put windows on these bloody doors?" _She continued to muse at the cruelty of the situation, remaining stock still against the wall opposite the horrid door.

Watching every swift step, every alarmed machine and ever panicked voice; she knew what they all meant, and dreaded what they may lead to.

In her deepest of thoughts, she has missed Bret coming in tow from his own car-having followed the ambulance, greeted by and oh-so-lovely Frank, and shown to a hard plastic chair. Yet she stood, in what some may say, was sheer terror.

She was about to tear herself away from the scene unfolding before her, when Abby appeared in her line of vision.

Abby was beyond concerned, for both of her friends. She stood with her weight evenly distributed on both feet, her arms wrapped around herself, hugging a chart or two to her chest.

"Neela, are you okay?" she spoke at a snail's pace, urging her friend to look her in the eyes. She would not comply; her eyes couldn't leave Ray's tranquil form, thinly covered by the crappy paper the hospital calls blankets.

"C'mon Neela, lets go sit down," Neela finally let herself be torn away, guided to the unknown. For everything was the unknown now. All she knew was that right then and there she had been standing, then walking, and then sitting. Her feet stole her attention. She found herself being led into the lounge, and only knew this because she had strained herself to raise her head in order to not walk into the door.

She vaguely remembered stopping. Stopping briefly so as to allow Bret to follow them in. It was slow, methodical, and torturous. The whole night seemed to drag on like this, and, she thought to herself, _I didn't really even get to hear them play._

In the back of her mind, somewhere in the depths of her consciousness, she made a mental note to laugh about that thought when this was over.

She planted her body wearily on the cool leather sofa, the side closest to door, and allowed Bret to follow suit next to her. The dull screech of a wooded chair across the linoleum floor woke her from her morbid, absent minded, and indifferent thoughts.

Abby soon occupied the chair, straddling it to allow the back to almost rest against her chest. Her gaze traveled back and forth between the two occupants of the sofa as she thought about exactly how to begin. She thought about exactly what had happened in the trauma room and how much of it Neela already knew. She thought about what terms to use and still not lessen the severity of the situation.

"Well, he's stable," she felt as if she should say more, but no effective words came. No sighs were exchanged. No glances reverted.

Abby exhaled, only to inhale again silently. A pin could have dropped and you would have heard it from across the room. Silence seemed to be a theme tonight.

She found her words, and once she did, she felt it impossible to stop. The conflicting emotions and instincts threatened to ricochet against her skull until her emotion and physical torment was too much to bear. Should she stop as to allow the very good-looking man next to Neela to absorb? Or rather does she continue knowing that Neela would know if she felt out key details?

Before she could decide, her pager did the job for her. She was near the end of her revised bullet and carefully and quickly left her nearly shattered friend behind.

"Woah," Bret's voice was just above a whisper, finding no necessity for intensity, "What the…"

Neela, both physically and mentally over-tired, probably would have tried to recite the Gettysburg address if you asked her to at that moment. Then she would have promptly smacked you.

She quickly took inventory of what Abby said and converted into laymen's terms, "He's alive but unconscious, probably because he was deprived of oxygen for a few minutes, they put a tube down his throat to help him breathe…"

At this you could see her weariness take over. She leaned herself back against the soft leather of the sofa, lightly brushing against his arm stretched casually over the back. Her forefinger and thumb of her left hand pressed into the bridge of her nose.

"They are going to admit him into the ICU until he wakes up and they can take him off the breathing machine, assuming his body doesn't have any further adverse reactions," She finished. She tipped her head back letting her soft ethnic hair graze his slightly muscular forearm.

This was obviously a mistake. His right hand that had been draped on the back of the sofa made a slow curl towards her shoulder, cupping it. He pulled her closer to his body, only to be pushed away irritably.

"Not now Bret." She yawned. This was the third time that minute.

More silence; dragging on for minutes, maybe hours, although she doubted the latter. Bret sat closer to her, eyes fixed on her ear, as she refused to look at him.

The silence mounted, as did tension.

He pounced.

His left hand took a fast, nonviolent swing towards her face, holding it closer to his as he deposited a deep, furious kiss on her lips that could have gone on forever. She wouldn't have it.

She began pushing, almost clawing at his chest. Her feet skid across the floor in front of her, desperately seeking friction she clearly didn't have. She finally gained an upper-hand and he backed off.

Neela stood a good five feet away from the couch, and only two from the door. A look skewed her face into one of pure disgust.

"How _dare_ you?" She whispered. Tears that had only minutes before dried, threatened to spill again.

"Neela, listen…I…"

"No, _you _listen!" She bellowed, her heart tearing through her vocal cords with bursts of angst and exhaustion swirling together into pure rage. "Your 'supposed' best friend nearly died tonight and you sit here and try to take advantage of me!"

"Neela, I'm –"

"You pervert!" She said purposefully loud, _wanting_ someone- anyone, to hear. "I don't know what I ever saw in you." She further stressed the 'you,' making it sound like the worst kind of pervert. The kind one would see on the ten o'clock news, in a police sketch, wanted for the rape and murder of elderly women.

Her voice lowered into somewhat of a sneer, and she took a breath to steady herself, "Get out," She pointed toward the door of the lounge and waited for him to move, "Get out, get out, _get out_!"

Her shriek hung in the air, like a bee looking for nectar, as he slowly made his way out the door and continued toward the sliding exits of the ER.

She hung her head and dragged her feet behind her lagging body as she followed after him, eyebrows furrows, holding back a flood of tears.

"Bret?" He turned at her somewhat calmer voice.

"Don't you even _think_ about setting foot in this hospital _any_ time soon."

She, as well as the rest of the ER who watched him disappear behind the glass doors, saw his hand reach up and brush a silent tear away.

And Neela didn't feel the slightest pang off guilt as she disregarded his tardy shot of emotion, and turned to go back to her ailing friend.

She had read his chart, twice. She got up and paced back and forth a few times, and sat down dizzy.

Dizzy from exhaustion, dizzy from buzzing machines, dizzy from low blood sugar as well, she supposed. _When was the last time I ate?_ She had mused for a while, nonchalantly, and yet not bothering to remedy that situation.

The clock only read ten minutes later then the last time she had checked it. She sat for five more minutes, alternating between watching his chest artificially move, and contemplating holding his hand.

Each time she got herself close enough to do so, she refrained. She had never been comfortable with closeness and Ray. The two just didn't seem to go hand in hand; pardon the pun.

As if on cue, stepping in time with the second hand on the clock that had become Neela's good acquaintance, Abby made her presence known as only she can.

"Oh shh-," she stopped herself through gritted teeth as she pushed open the door. A normal task for most, but Abby just happened to have her hands full with two steaming cups brimming with coffee, and Murphy's law swiftly kicked in.

The pressure of the door sandwiching the Styrofoam cup between it and her hand forced the lid off and the contents of the cup everywhere. "-it."

Neela, nearly startled out of her skin, turned to face her cursing comrade, "You alright?"

She smirked bashfully at her clumsiness.

"I was about to ask you the same thing…" Abby's smirk faded and was replaced with a look of deep concern.

"I'm fine, I'm not the one on a ventilator," Neela's gaze shifted from Abby to Ray as she stood up. Her hands remained on the bed rail to help steady her unnoticed, but Abby had a keen eye. She put the coffee down on an empty tray and put her hand on Neela's back, supportively.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"'Bout what?" Neela couldn't bring herself to look at Abby, knowing full well what she was referring to.

"Half of Admin heard you tearing into Bret," Abby turned her friend to face her and held her gaze, "What did he do?"

Neela's silence said it all as she blinked tears away from her eyes, "It's just been a long day."

Abby took a deep breath that fell out as an exacerbated sigh, "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"I'm fine." She swayed.

Neela watched as Abby crossed the room and began reading Ray's chart. Her eyes scanned the familiar words and her fingers flipped the pages, "Look, they won't be taking him up to the ICU for a few hours, we could go out or to the cafeteria and be back before they even move him."

"Maybe we should stay in the cafeteria, so someone can find us if…"

"They can page us."

"Ok," Neela looked briefly at the clock and then just as quickly at Ray, as if asking his permission before surrendering to her growling stomach.

With one hand occupied with a now cooler cup of coffee, she watched Abby go to the door and hold it open for her.

"I'll be right there."

She waited until Abby had closed the door before finally taking Ray's hand in her own. At first shocked at how cool it felt, she regained her composure and leaned in close to his ear.

"Ray, you've got to fight this, okay? I need you…I need you to fight this." Her strained whisper was barely audible over the numerous monitors, but she hoped he heard her.

She gave his hand a warm squeeze and turned to leave. Her hand lingered in his as she picked up her coat from the chair she'd recently been occupying.

His fingered curled, ever so slightly that if she hadn't been praying for it she wouldn't have noticed it at all. But she did notice and as she turned back to face him, his weary, but just as bright green eyes greeted her stunned, chocolate brown ones.

"Ray?"


End file.
